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"You musht do dat shob yourself, Mishter Vild," rejoined Abraham, shaking his head. Sheppard, gently, "nor do I need any. Why didn’t he die?” Anna sprang to her feet and walked restlessly up and down the room. The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet. It was now a quarter past twelve. "Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus.
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